Greener on the other side
by grilledjellyfish
Summary: Having died in a car accident, Ichigo waits at his fresh grave for a certain shinigami to bring him to Soul Society. Ichigox?


Author's rambling: 

This is my very first attempt on Bleach fanfiction! This is also a first timer for this type of writing and I am really nervous whether I succeeded in pulling it through! I would appreciate reviews with helpful comments!!

I wanna thank/hug/kiss/cuddle my one and only Queen, Katrin, for helping me with this one! May Love, Adventure and Sports Manga always be with you... and the YOUTH!! o.O'

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Attending to your own funeral is kinda creepy, especially when most of the people gathered around your fresh grave can actually see your ghost self standing among them, looking everywhere but at the light brown haired girl crying into her small hands.

They are all here.  
Their eyes are constantly seeking out your form, sorrowful gazes staying on you for only the shortest moment before their owners can drag back their attention to the priest.

Silence reigns, the only noise coming from the hiccupping girl weeping and rustling with handkerchiefs. She gets accompanied by some lonely sniffs from the young woman with the long reddish hair. She has her strands pulled out of her face by the two flower clips and is the only one who hasn't stolen a single glance from you, yet.

Her female friend with the black short hair slings an arm across her shoulder and clenches her jaw muscles. You watch her watery eyes as her breathing becomes irregular. She is trying without much success to suppress her public display of emotions. Emotions so foreign to her normal carefree self, that you can see the anger bubbling inside of her at her own failure.

Because she -just like everyone else- is strong.

Strong for whom?  
For themselves? To keep them from breaking down?

Or for you?  
Are they trying to spare you of their cacophony of emotions that you are so easily reading despite their pathetic attempts to conceal them?

Stupid.

You can just hope that you won't make them suffer for much longer.

They are near.  
You can feel their presence close by.  
Like shadows looming in the darkness.

Waiting.  
Watching.

You guess that they are somewhere behind you, probably crouching on one of the many tall trees lining the path that leads straight towards your grave. The one right beside the one of your deceased mother. They want to give you some privacy, an action that loses its impact with your ability to 'feel' their reiatsu filling the air around you.

It's the thought that counts, you remind yourself, while trying to blend out their energy signatures.

The young girl standing in front of you starts to tremble as the tears stream down her red cheeks. Her mouth opens and the words you have dreaded to hear erupt from her throat in a hoarse voice.

"Ichi-nii!" You hear her weep into her palms.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you see the bearded guy move. He lowers himself to the ground, his form kneeling down beside her, the black trousers getting soiled with mud. Someone has watered the flowers of the grave behind you, a small stream having formed a puddle right in front of your tomb. The man pulls her into his embrace, whispering words of comfort into her ear. With his other arm, he reaches out towards another young girl, not older than her sister.

Her hands are balled into tight fists, knuckles having turned white from the strain.  
She isn't crying. Her eyes seem hollow as they stare at the worn, familiar baseball cap in her tight grasp.

She doesn't even blink once when she, as well, gets pulled into the fierce hug of her father. He draws them closer to his chest and allows his eyes to stray for only a heartbeat to your face. His dark orbs can't hide the sorrow and fears of his soul, but he's trying to force a smile into them, the corners of his mouth pulling slightly up as he hopes to look cheerful for you.

He fails miserably, you think and close your eyes to spare yourself the image of another broken heart.

Why are you always the one, causing your family so much pain, you ask yourself, remembering days when the little haven of peaceful perfection had been as real as the smile on your sisters's faces.

Slowly, the small crowd of friends and relatives disperses and you are left standing alone with those who can see you.

The bearded guy is right beside you, your shoulders almost bumping. The girl is lying in his arms, her head resting in the crook of his neck as she sleeps, a troubled look on her flushed face. Her brows crease slightly, as she mumbles something incoherently into the wet fabric of her father's black tuxedo. Again you have to look away.

"It's not your fault."

Something inside you clenches painfully, but it can't be your heart, you realize, barely able to suppress an angry sob, for you no longer have one pumping warm blood through a body made of flesh and bones. It's buried six feet under, already rotting away.

Such an unimportant existence, you think and kick the stone plate that has your name engraved in simple letters.

'Not your fault'. His words echo through your mind for the longest second and a harsh laugh finally escapes your throat. You suddenly remember the car and curse yourself for the umpteenth time for your carelessness. Why didn't you see it back then? You should have been more mindful of your surroundings.

You have survived the most evil forces of the universe. Have fought shinigami, hollows and the darkness inside yourself.

But in the end, dying was as simple as that.  
No fighting, no pain, no second chances.

No hollow to slice, no Zangetsu to deflect the impact. No death gods to fight by your, no Shun Shun Rikka to heal your injuries and no bows and arrows made of spirit energy.

You can't even remember the exact moment when your spirit self got sucked out of your cold body, just that suddenly you were standing beside a gurney. A body covered by a white sheet in an empty room and the realization that you wouldn't come home to eat your sister's delicious food ever again.

You have ripped another part out of this family.  
Again.

Subtly, you flare your nostrils as you try to inhale the scent of incense slowly burning beside the simple flower arrangement, but you know with a strange feeling of finality, that you can't smell it anymore.

You should be used to being a ghost, you think angrily and clench you fists even more tightly.

But it's different this time, a tired voice tells you from somewhere inside the dark void of your mind. There's no chance to return. No way to feel the warmth of your own body ever again.

No hunger, no thirst, no sleep deprivation.  
You are a normal spirit. Doomed to 'live' with the coldness.

They come nearer, slowly advancing. They want to give you some more time probably and you feel grateful for another minute. There is so much you need to tell everyone. So many words to utter in a voice that only few humans can actually hear. You want to scream and yell furiously. You want to fight the decision that has been made without your consent.

But instead of screaming and fighting, you stare unseeingly at the cobblestone ground and wish for another minute in absolute silence with them all. Because sometimes no words are needed to be said.

She's there.

It's the first time your guts tightens in anticipation at feeling her reiatsu close to you. It's almost suffocating you, squeezing your chest like a giant hand.

Slowly you turn around, mere meters between you and the raven haired woman. Your lips transform with a sad smile when you see the black shihakusho she is wearing and the long katana sheathed at her side. No wonder they are all so afraid of seeing shinigami, you think with a humourless chuckle.

"I'm so sorry." Her soft voice reaches your ears.

Looking up for the first time since you have watched your own body getting buried, you stare her squarely into her dark eyes. She's crying openly, tears cascading down her cheeks and quivering lips. The tall man behind her with the red hair and the funny eyebrows squeezes her shoulder with his large hand, trying to comfort her trembling body even though he knows it's futile.

A second high pitched, female sob reaches your ears from your right and then the voice of the one wearing glasses erupts, muttering a mantra of hissed "Dammit!". Everyone around you seems to suddenly feel like moving nervously around, fidgeting with their clammy hands. Some are sniffing, some are crying. Most are silently observing.

But their feelings and thoughts are palpable. You could reach out and grab them like black reiraku.  
Guilt and sorrow. How you abhor the thought of having made them feel this way.

"For what?" You ask her -them- gently, a small smile tugging at the thin line that forms your lips.  
"What could you have done? Life hardly ever pays you off the way you may deserve it and no one of you deserves to feel guilty about 'this'." You offer solemnly.

With all the willpower you can muster right then, you make eye contact with everyone.

With Asano and Mizuiro.  
Your father, Yuzu and Karin.  
With Ishida and Chad, Tatsuki and Orihime.

You even glance at the distant figure of that damn Urahara where he stands slightly off, his eyes concealed by his ridiculous hat.

"Just watch out for each other until I come back."

This one thought both troubles you and gives you hope. Because until the day you are allowed to return to the human world to watch over everyone important to you as a shinigami, they have to get along on their own. Their lives no longer lie in your hands and no Bankai stands between them and death.

When your eyes finally settle again on the sobbing shinigami in front of you, you feel a new wave of sadness wash over you. "Rukia." Your voice is coarse and you curse yourself for the lack of self control. "Just get that Konso thingy done and over with."

Renji smiles tightly back at you, respecting your words more than he can say.

The black haired woman steps closer, swallowing the next sob vehemently as she draws her beautiful sword. It glistens in the last rays of light of the setting sun, but it's not the blade she confronts you with. The flat end of the white hilt moves slowly towards you and as a pang of fear grips your nonexistent heart, the sound of voices reaches your ear.

You can make out a flurry of wishes and wise-ass comments.

"Take care."  
"Don't get killed again!"

"Make me proud."  
"For once stay out of trouble."  
"Learn to control you reiatsu."

"I'll protect them for you until then."

You smile ruefully and lift your hand goodbye.

Rukia takes the last step towards you and touches you forehead lightly. The small rest of the chain, that has once connected your soul and body, rattles slightly as you take an invoulntary step back. There is a sudden feeling of warmth spreading through your body as the ground vanishes underneath your feet, rippling away like the surface of water.

You look up again one last time, trying to memorize the sad, cheery faces of your family -relatives and friends- while you are slowly disappearing inside the puddle that builds a gate between Soul Society and the real world.

Your eyes stray to the watery orbs of the shinigami in front of you and with a faint smile, she sheathes her sword again.

"See you on the other side, Ichigo."

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END!!

Yosh! Hwo was it? Aweful enough to tell me? n.n

I am not sure whaether Ichigo would actually become immediately a shinigami if he actually ever died a normal death... he has the ability and the reiatsu to turn into one as long as his body is still alive, but otherwise... no idea actually. Hope you don't hate me for writing it this way, but it worked out just fine with the plot here, ne?!


End file.
